


Exile Vilify

by Daiya_Darko



Series: Bruce Banner is Not a Shy and Passive Man [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Helicarrier, exile vilify, hulkwidow - Freeform, the national
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daiya_Darko/pseuds/Daiya_Darko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha learns to handle and accept fear by confronting it head on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exile Vilify

**-Exile-**

_There’s so much tension in the air – a large hand slowly tightening its grip._

_Then, there’s Banner and he’s holding the staff._

_Holding the gun comforts you, but you know it won’t make a difference; the Hulk spit out a bullet that was meant as a suicide mission._

_You never wanted to deal with him in the first place. He’s hazardous to everyone onboard, he doesn’t even want to_ be _here, and he’s exactly what Loki wants._

_At least the cube has been found._

_At least._

_You still cling to fragments of hope, although you should know better by now._

_The explosion knocks everyone to the floor, and you and Banner plummet to the third deck. Panic floods through you, the same kind of panic you felt when he slammed his hands on the table and yelled at you in Kolkata. But that was different; he wasn’t really angry or upset._

_This time, he had just been yelling. He had just picked up the staff. He just got blown through a floor._

_“We’re okay, right?” You don’t even trust your own voice._

_“I swear on my life – ”_

_“Your life?” He roars, and you have no choice but to watch as his body stretches and grows into everything you fear._

_You can’t control this. You can’t plan for this. You can’t kill him._

_And just then, right then, his eyes meet yours, and you_ see. _You see that he’s going to regret this along with every other unwanted transformation he’s ever undergone. You can see him telling you to run, and dislodging your foot, you head for escape. You looked that man in the eyes right before he gave way to the Hulk and you saw the sad, broken, helplessness of Bruce Banner._

_In that moment, you saw someone who needed your help and you couldn’t do anything but turn away and run from the monster he is._

_No, Bruce is not a monster._

_The_ Hulkis _a monster._

_And then there’s a giant, green beast coming after you, and the noises coming from his mouth aren’t human or animal. They’re unlike anything you’ve ever heard before, and it’s absolutely terrifying._

_You don’t get terrified; you’re supposed to stay cool, calm, and collected._

_But then a large hand swipes at you and destroys the stairs you were on a moment ago._

_So many times you’ve been close to death, but you’ve always been able to eliminate the threat._

_This time, you can’t eliminate the threat – a threat that doesn’t even want to exist._

_A giant hand that tries to crush you –_

_You can feel the sweep of air –_

_This is the end._

Natasha’s eyes shoot open and her hand instinctively wraps around the desert eagle .357 under her pillow. She’s breathing hard, but steadies herself with a few minutes of deep, focused meditation. She rolls over to check the clock on her night stand.

_Three in the morning. Great._

She releases the gun, and sitting up, she stretches her back and arms up into the air, exhaling slowly to rid herself of the lingering remnants of the dream.

She knows this is silly, her fear of the Hulk, especially after seeing the way it – _he_ – saved Tony from falling to his death.

But just because the Hulk had a thing for smartass billionaire geniuses didn’t mean he liked her much. After all, she was nothing but kind to him. She tried to calm Bruce and reassure him that things would be all right, and it blew up in her face, as if her words had set him off.

Natasha swallows and walks from her bed to her closet. She chooses a clean pair of gym shorts and a sports bra, laces up her tennis shoes, and heads to the lower level gym. Focusing on each of her actions helps distract from the distant echo of the Hulk’s roars in the back of her head.

She might not be able to exorcise demons, but she can exercise herself, and she figures that’s as close as she’ll get.

 

Natasha spends her time observing the other Avengers. She watches how Tony gesticulating increases inversely to the depth of the conversation, studying the way he grows stone still when he knows he’s close to striking a nerve with someone.

He never hits the nerve, although sometimes Natasha wishes he would, just to see how he handles hurting someone intentionally. After all, Tony isn’t stupid and he knows just what effect his words can have on people.

She likes to watch Thor talk, because his whole face emotes with pure intent. There is seldom a false emotion on his face, and it calms Natasha to not have to constantly decipher everyone. Thor is blunt almost to a fault, but he’s a good person, and Natasha likes him well enough. He is nothing but respectful of her personal space and does not treat her like a damsel in distress. In fact, she would go so far as to consider him a friend, as she does Clint. The three of them sometimes train together, sharing tales of conquer (Thor) and espionage (Clint and Natasha).

But when she’s in the same room as Bruce, it’s as if all her programming is forgotten, and she can’t read a genuine expression from a false one. Sometimes she wants to say something, anything to provoke him, but she knows all she’ll get is a small smile from that tanned, stubbly face.

For her, it’s nerve-wracking to be unable to read someone. The fact that she can’t kill him either is just the cherry on the cake.

One day as she’s observing, she listens in on a conversation between Tony, Steve, and Clint in the kitchen. They think she’s engrossed in her music and reading, but she can hear them clearly – especially Tony, who has never tried to quiet himself, even when his life was in danger.

“I don’t know how you can hang out with Bruce, man. He’s so creepy,” Barton shudders at the thought of being around the doctor for more than five minutes. “He always has this weird smile on his face unless he’s frowning and then I’m just afraid he’s going to Hulk out.”

“There’s nothing wrong with smiling, Agent Barton,” Steve chuckles into his can of soda.

“Okay, but have you seen him? It’s a half-smile, like he knows something we don’t and he’s doing a piss-poor job at hiding it.”

“Hey, he’s my friend, and whether you find him creepy or unbearably attractive, you’re not allowed to bad mouth him in front of me!” Tony scolds, even though his smile grows mischevious. “I mean, unless I want a say in it.”

Natasha sits there, listening to the three nitpick and dissect Bruce’s every movement, his every word, and she wonders why she didn’t see any of it before. When they break it down, she can see and understand everything. All together, the finished product doesn’t make sense. As separate pieces though, she has something to work with.

Natasha slams her book on the table and standing, knocks her chair back. The three men stop laughing and visibly flinch as they look to her in slight confusion.

“You all are assholes. Bruce is absolutely terrified of hurting everyone. Tony, you’re the shittiest friend in the world.”

Clint laughs and reaches out to squeeze her arm. “Come on, Tasha. We’re just poking some fun!”

Instead of letting him touch her, she snatches his hand and slams it on the table. The menacing look in her green eyes says everything Clint needs to know, and he nods slowly. Releasing him, Natasha straightens and looks at the other two. Glaring wordlessly, she marches out of the kitchen to her own bedroom.

 

 

**-Vilify-**

Bruce walks tentatively around everyone and everything, afraid of accidentally destroying the priceless lab equipment and his frien –

Colleagues. His work colleagues.

Despite Tony’s urging, Bruce is _not_ going to strut; it has never been in his nature. He’d prefer to be left well enough alone, but he realizes he can’t have that. Instead, Bruce settles for keeping odd hours and avoiding eye contact. By pretending no one else exists, he hopes everyone will forget that he does as well.

Of course, that’s a childish idea. Maybe the others aren’t watching, but SHIELD is always watching, and SHIELD has two personal employees embedded in the same tower as Bruce.

When Bruce feels Natasha staring at him from across the kitchen at three in the morning, standing by the refrigerator idly, he freezes, waiting for her to speak with that controlled voice of hers.

However, she says nothing, even when Bruce stares her right in the eye. Part of him is angry. _I am not some animal you just study on National Geographic._ That part of him wants to lash out – just to elicit a reaction from her, just like he did when they first met.

Another part of him, the part that isn’t angry all the time, knows that isn’t a good idea.

Bruce finishes making his cup of tea and leans against the back of the counter, watching Natasha.

His mind briefly travels back to the moment right before he had transformed on the helicarrier. That memory is one that he’s decided to lock away in the back of his head and never think about again, but being face to face alone with Natasha for the first time since the end of the Chitauri invasion dredges up memories.

 _Nightmares, honestly,_ he thinks. No occasion of turning into the Hulk is remembered as a memory or a dream, and never looked forward to as a fantasy.

Bruce is a living, breathing nightmare waiting for people to go to sleep.

Natasha’s hands play with the hem of her shirt, black, form-fitting Underarmour and a matching pair of shorts. Bruce’s eyes scan over her body, reading her muscles and movements. She’s scared, clearly, and that tips Bruce off as to what she’s doing there.

Natasha never shows fear.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say or prove, but letting your guard down around me is the last thing you want to do,” Bruce says quietly, sipping his tea.

Natasha takes slow, hesitant steps toward him and stops a foot away.

“I should be able to kill you. On the helicarrier, I should have had the option to shoot you or punch you in the throat hard enough to make you choke on your own blood.” Natasha pauses and watches Bruce for a reaction, swallowing when she realizes she can’t read him. “Everything would be right if you weren’t here. I’d still feel confident in myself, but you…” Natasha’s eyes narrow, and Bruce sets his cup down to fold his arms across his chest, drawing up his height.

“What about me, Ms. Romanoff? Does it bother you to know there’s one person you couldn’t manipulate if you tried? One person who you couldn’t incapacitate without first surprising with heavy tranquilizers?” Bruce leans forward a little and notices the barely perceptible flinch in her shoulders. It makes Bruce smile, and Natasha watches that weird smile Clint talked about grow into something more…sinister.

Natasha swallows, nodding, and tries to keep her hand from shaking. “You’re my worst nightmare. Literally. I dream about that day.”

“And now you’re confronting it with exposure therapy. Cute,” Bruce leans back and chuckles to himself, grabbing his tea and knocking back the dregs in one, smooth motion. Before he can set it down, Natasha smacks it out of his hand and grabs his wrist.

The crash of ceramic on tile sounds distant. All Bruce can hear is the increase of his pulse and Natasha’s breathing increasing.

She meets his eyes, hard and unfeeling, and Bruce can’t help the small laugh that escapes his throat. Natasha doesn’t let it throw her off, remaining composed, until Bruce stops laughing and his face darkens.

“That was my favorite mug.”

Bruce rolls his wrist free and grabs her smaller one, gripping it painfully tight as he spins them around, pinning her to the counter. Natasha winces, but doesn’t move otherwise.

“You must really think you’re smart for this. Do you honestly think you have control of the situation?” Bruce growls, frustrated. “I am not an experiment, I am not a toy, and I am _especially_ not an animal in captivity that you can watch and prod at your whim.”

“If you’re not an animal in captivity for watching and prodding, then why have you allowed SHIELD to hold you for that very reason?” Natasha fires back, regaining some of her ground.

Bruce lets go of her wrist and smiles. It makes Natasha shiver to see him do that, especially after one of his outbursts.

“I wasn’t being prodded until you came along. Everyone left me alone. No one bothered me. I do some work for them, they stay out of my way.”

“So you’re essentially a pet. You’re no better than an old guard dog.”

Bruce bites his lip thoughtfully. “I don’t understand what you’re hoping to gain from all of this, but I’m sorry I tried to kill you. I’m sure it keeps you up all night, just like the memories of everyone else who has tried to kill you.”

Natasha is careful about her next words, and, steeling herself, says, “I only have bad dreams about you.”

Silence falls across the room, and Bruce tilts his head in curiosity. “I feel special.”

“Don’t.”

Silence again.

Bruce turns to examine the mess next to them and sighs. “There was no need for that.”

“I know.”

Natasha grabs his chin and forces his gaze to meet hers. “How am I supposed to stop being afraid of you? Why is no one else afraid of you? They laugh and joke about you as if they don’t know you could rip them apart in anger for what they say.”

Bruce pulls her hand from his face and holds it gently in his hand. He pulls her close and wraps her smaller body in his arms.

“Everyone else knows when to accept that they’re helpless or hopelessly out of control. They talk the way they do because they’re afraid.”

The hug catches Natasha off guard and she finds herself faltering for words. Every part of her body wants to break free and snap his neck, but she can’t move. If he transformed right now, he’d kill her, and she knows this, the thought as persistent as her night terrors. She has no choice but to relax her muscles and return the embrace, face half-buried in his shoulder as she tries to slow her breathing.

Bruce rubs her back calmly in an attempt to soothe her. “See? I’m not hurting you. I won’t hurt you. Just let me have control. Just let it go.”

Natasha clings to him tighter as her breathing grows calm. This isn’t the monster that tried to smash her through steel floors. This is a man, a man with a side of him he has power over. He could have Hulked out, but he didn’t. Out of the many ways this could have gone wrong, this was not one of the ways Natasha had mentally prepared for.

“Natasha, I’m really not as bad as you think I am. I can control the Other Guy. I’m not a loose cannon. I can be a dick, but that’s just my sense of humor.” Bruce pulls away to give her space. “Please don’t forget that. You seem to be the last person to hop on board this train and I’d hate for you to fall off the caboose.”

 

Bruce watches Natasha following their night time encounter and catches her doing the same. They move around each other like electrons around an atom, never actually meeting but passing by closely enough to exchange short bursts of electricity. There are bumps and brushes, small smiles and nods that no one else sees.

Bruce likes watching from a distance; he gets to see how Natasha moves with military precision. Each movement she makes wastes no extra energy, energy she needs with the constant thinking going on in her head. Her thoughts, like her fighting skills, are fine-tuned, just waiting for a battle. Her muscles are not taut, but they are not relaxed either. She’s always just teetering on the edge of anticipation, and Bruce likes it.

He likes Natasha.

When they find themselves alone the next time, Bruce and Natasha don’t speak. They sit next to each other, both engrossed in their own individual books. Bruce is reading a William Sleator novel; Natasha is reading Anne Rice. Bruce feels a little immature for reading teen fiction while Natasha is reading _Queen of the Damned,_ but he likes the stories, and they’re engaging in their simplicity. The one he’s currently reading is about two kids and quantum physics, specifically travelling to different universes.

Natasha glances over at his book and smiles at him. She reaches over and to touch his knee, giving him an inviting look. Bruce feels his face flush, and hesitates before bookmarking his page and setting his book down.

They are all soft touches and half-spoken words that come out in whispers. Bruce is afraid, more for Natasha’s sake than his – while he’s keeping his heart rate relatively steady, he knows things won’t progress very far if he breaks concentration for even a second.

And _oh_ how hard it is to remain focused when her hands are under his shirt, her mouth nibbling at his neck. Bruce pulls her taut, toned body flushed against his own and breathes in her scent, something like apples and cinnamon. Bruce’s stomach growls and turns in ill-timed hunger and nervousness, and he can feel Natasha smiling against his skin.

When their eyes meet, Natasha sees the look in Bruce’s eyes, the fear of scaring her again, and it makes her heart skip a beat. Reaching up with a slow hand, she scratches the back of his head with her finger tips, pushing his head closer to hers, and meeting his shy lips with her own, confident ones.

She’s in control here. She has nothing to fear.

Though their movements are awkward and cautious, Bruce is completely relaxed when Natasha lets him slide inside of her. There’s a brief moment of sudden realization that this _is_ indeed happening, and another moment to realize that Bruce isn’t transforming.

Natasha rocks her hips and Bruce closes his eyes, savoring the sensation. He can’t open his eyes, can’t look because he knows the sight is all he needs to lose his grip and Hulk out, but he lets his hands trace the smooth curves of her body and sculpt an image for him. His fingertips brush against the back of her knees and up toward her round, firm, butt. He allows himself a squeeze and smirks at Natasha’s soft gasp. A sharp pinch is returned with a brisk slap against his chest.  Bruce laughs, losing focus a little—and suddenly he's seeing Natasha, heart racing as he takes in her awe-inspiring form.  His breath catches in his throat and his hands slide up to Natasha’s waist as he braces himself, ready to push her away to safety.

It’s like the helicarrier all over again.

Their eyes meet, and Bruce sees the look of relieved, satisfaction in her eyes. He can tell how much she wants this, wants _him,_ and just how unafraid she is.

Bruce reaches out a slow, steady hand and cups it around the back of Natasha’s neck.

“Tell me everything is going to be all right,” he says, out of breath.

Natasha leans forward, hips still moving, and says into his shoulder, “I swear on my life.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song of the same name by The National.  
> Beta'd by Jessie (poins.tumblr.com). Thanks for teaching me a few things and pushing me out of my comfort zone, you brilliant lady♥


End file.
